XLVIII.

The hours move on. I see a wavering gleam O’er the hush’d waters tremulously fall, Pour’d from the Cæsars’ palace; now the beam Of many lamps is brightening in the hall, And from its long arcades and pillars tall Soft graceful shadows undulating lie On the wave’s heaving bosom, and recall A thought of Venice, with her moonlight sky, And festal seas and domes, and fairy pageantry.